


Ribbons

by White_Rainbow



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Plug, Anal Sex, Birthday, Birthday Sex, Blow Jobs, Bondage with Ribbons, But Krennic doesnt care, Krennic's persistence pays off, Light Bondage, M/M, Tarkin does not like birthdays, Tarkin is pleased
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-27
Updated: 2017-02-27
Packaged: 2018-09-27 05:24:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9975308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/White_Rainbow/pseuds/White_Rainbow
Summary: Chapter Excerpt:Somehow...some...how….Krennic eventually figured out what day Tarkin was born.It was a day that even the grand moff himself seemed to let lapse from his memory.When he walked into his quarters after a particularly trying day and found a present in the middle of the room, Tarkin dropped his datapad on the ground.“Happy Birthday, Governor.”Krennic knelt in the middle of the modestly furnished room on a plush, white-furred rug.He wore nothing, but ribbons.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fat_fish_in_space](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fat_fish_in_space/gifts).



> To my wonderful friend Fishy on their birthday. Thank you so very much for being a great friend to me, being supportive and feeding me with so much Tarkin goodies. Fishy Feeds Me is one of my fav tags now :3  
> Happy Birthday!!

Tarkin was not one for birthdays.

As a child he spent most of his birthdays out in the treacherous Eriadu wilds and every morning he held a quiet celebration for just surviving the night. The idea of holding one day above all else seemed useless to him.

When Krennic came into his life, things changed.

Suddenly the word “birthday” had been forced into his his meticulously selective lexicon.

Krennic adored birthdays.

For Krennic it was an excuse to be lavished with praise, to be held in higher regard than he held himself (if such a thing was possible), and, of course, to be showered with _presents_ . Wrapped presents specifically. It _had_ to be wrapped.

Tarkin found Krennic to be an utter handful when his day of birth came around. It all had to be perfect or the man would pout for weeks.

Tarkin cared deeply for Krennic, but seeing the man sulk over such frivolousness made him want to throw the director out an airlock.

So Tarkin always made sure each birthday was grander than the last. Extravagant articles of clothing, fine jewelry encrusted with rare gems, rich foods and richer wines and brighter colors and priceless trinkets and praise...so much _praise_.

Meanwhile, each of Tarkin’s birthdays came and went without a whisper.

And Tarkin thought nothing of it.

Somehow... _some...how…._ Krennic eventually figured out what day Tarkin was born.

It was a day that even the grand moff himself seemed to let lapse from his memory.

When he walked into his quarters after a particularly trying day and found a present in the middle of the room, Tarkin dropped his datapad on the ground.

“Happy Birthday, Governor.”

Krennic knelt in the middle of the modestly furnished room on a plush, white-furred rug.

He wore nothing, but ribbons.

Dozens of black and white ribbons laced around his body in a wide-set lattice design. They formed a harness across his broad, heaving chest, wound around his long, lean torso and spiraled around his parted thighs.

“What is this?” Tarkin asked, trying to sound annoyed, but the question came out breathless.

Krennic kept his eyes forward as Tarkin began to circle him, allowing the grand moff to take in the careful craftsmanship of the ribbon-work and admire his naked form in perfect posture. His shoulders were pulled back, arms taut and slightly flexed accentuating shallow muscles that twitched with every breath. As Tarkin circled the man, he found the director was grasping his forearms, ribbons bound tightly around his wrists.

“This is for you. For...your birthday,” Krennic said in almost a pant. A rosiness filled his pale cheeks and he licked those pouty lips. It seemed a nervous twitch rather than sensual, and yet that vulnerable gesture brought an ache of need to Tarkin’s loins.

“And how did you manage this precarious position?” Tarkin asked, still disbelieving the man had done all this himself.

“Governor,” Krennic said in a soft purr, “you should know by now I am a man of many talents. Though, this did take some...doing.”

Tarkin completed his slow pace around Krennic and stood in front of him again. “And how did you discover my birth date?”

Those sharp blue eyes rose to meet Tarkin’s gaze, and those sinful lips pulled back into a charming smile. “Like I said... _many_ talents.” Krennic’s tongue came out slowly and this time he sensually licked his lower lip before biting it. Tarkin’s cock twitched. He stepped closer to his “present”, running a hand through that soft, sandy hair dusted with hints of gray.

“That remains to be seen does, it not? Are you up to the task I wonder?” Tarkin said, as Krennic leaned into his hand, lapping up the affection shamelessly.

“I will not fail,” Krennic purred. He turned and caught Tarkin’s thumb between his teeth, nibbling softly.

Tarkin allowed himself a soft sigh. “You are an impertinent little prince, aren’t you? I have told you many times I do not care for birthdays.”

Krennic pulled away from Tarkin’s thumb, arching his back and playfully struggling against the bindings. “Are you saying you want to return your present?” He leaned up and bit Tarkin’s thumb hard.

Tarkin hissed and withdrew his thumb, gathering a handful of Krennic’s hair, and forcing the director’s head back. Krennic let out an excited whine, pushing his hips forward. A smaller collection of ribbons were wrapped around the base of Krennic’s cock, and Tarkin noticed that those ribbons were wound snugly around his balls as well.

Tarkin smiled. Krennic had fashioned himself a cock ring.

Tarkin knew the man well enough to know that such an act meant he had no intention of coming tonight; that whatever happened tonight would be for Tarkin’s benefit, not his own. That act of selflessness was a more unexpected gift than giving himself over to Tarkin as a gift.

“My spoiled prince,” Tarkin said, sliding a boot between Krennic’s legs. “I would never return such a treasure.”

Like the eager little plaything that he was, Krennic kneeled up and pressed his cock against the length of Tarkin’s boot. Grinding and moaning indulgently, Krennic never took his eyes off of Tarkin despite being glassy and unfocused with need.

“Look at you,” Tarkin breathed, releasing the grip on the man’s hair and gliding his fingers along the man’s flush cheek. “You did this for me?”

“I do it all for you, governor,” Krennic moaned, his cock making a sharp squeaking sound as it rubbed against the shining leather. “Whatever you want tonight I am ready for you.”

Tarkin said nothing, only pulling his boot away, and smirking as Krennic let out another soft whimper. He may be doing this as a selfless act, but he was still a hungry, needy pup.

Tarkin unbuckled his belt and let it fall to the floor with a soft metallic _tink._ He unhooked his tunic and shrugged it off revealing a gray tank shirt beneath, a pair of dull metal dog tags resting over the thin material. His cock was already pressing eagerly against the zipper of his trousers. He ran a hand over the bulge, feeling the full length and enjoyed Krennic’s eyes which shined at seeing the distinct outline of his covered girth. Krennic struggled again against his bindings, his long torso twisting impatiently and deliciously and so very helplessly, moving just the way Tarkin loved.

Tarkin caught Krennic’s chin and immediately the director stilled.

“Open,” he commanded.

Krennic let his mouth hang open, those lips already shining and wet, his tongue lolling out just enough to send Tarkin’s already hardened organ to a positively throbbing state. The moment he unzipped his pants, Krennic wasted no time in catching Tarkin’s cockhead in his mouth as it bounced into view. His lips glided halfway down Tarkin’s shaft before withdrawing, pressing the flat of his tongue hard against the man’s frenulum as he withdrew. It sent shockwaves of pleasure through Tarkin’s loins and he moaned softly.

The sound encouraged Krennic to lean further into the organ, letting it slide into his mouth shallowly again, moving back and forth unsteadily on his knees.

Tarkin accommodated by stepping in closer and watched the rest of his cock disappear into that beautiful mouth. The moment it hit the back of Krennic’s throat, the director let out a deep, rumbling moan. The vibrations rippled through Tarkin’s cock taking the governor’s breath away. “Orson,” he moaned, and rocked his hips forward, feeling his cockhead open up the man’s throat cutting away the director’s lewd sounds.

Krennic relaxed his throat at every push, allowing Tarkin smooth passage, and at each withdraw the director moaned enthusiastically until the sounds were cut off again after another thrust.

It was a beautiful song that Krennic serenaded just for Tarkin.

Tarkin felt the orgasm begin to swell within him and he pulled away from Krennic’s lips before taking it too much farther. As he withdrew, a long string of pearly saliva connected Krennic’s luscious lips and Tarkin’s aching shaft.

“You said you are ready for me?” Tarkin asked.

Krennic grinned knowing what Tarkin was hinting at.

“Indeed I did, but...” he twisted his torso coyly. “I will need a little help.”

Tarkin knelt in front of Krennic and very slowly turned him. He laid him down on the rug face first, carefully easing him down, the man’s leaking cock pressed between his belly and the rug. As soon as he was laying prone, Krennic writhed, rubbing his cock against the plush rug and knowing he could do nothing more.

Tarkin knelt behind the man and smiled. Between his legs, a generously thick black plug leaked a clear fluid that ran down from his loosened hole down his ribbon-laced thighs.

“Orson…” He breathed and leaned down, slowly removing the plug and delighting in the soft cry as his well-prepared present was emptied. “Do you want me to fill you?”

“Please,” Krennic said, his thighs parting and his tight, beautifully round ass lifted for him. “Please, Wil...I’m so empty…”

Tarkin leaned down, placing his hands on either side of Krennic’s body, feeling the heat radiating off his beautiful gift. Krennic babbled his pleas, lost in craving, and yet never begging to to be released.

Tarkin positioned his cock against Krennic’s opening and eased in. The director opened up easily as if made only for him.

“Mmmf,” Orson grunted as Tarkin gave him a few shallow pumps. “Please, Wil, harder. Please...”

Tarkin bit his lip and snapped his hips forward, filling the man entirely. Orson cried out a _yes_ as Tarkin thrusted in. On a second thrust, and a third, Orson’s pleas turned into insatiable cries, his tight walls clenching so hard around Tarkin, that it brought out loud feral grunts from the governor who rarely made sounds of pleasure at all.

“Wil…Wil, please,” Krennic murmured, his whole body rocking against the rug. “ _Harder_ ... _more_ …”

With every utterance, with every thrust, Tarkin felt himself rising closer to his peak again; his orgasm rose not just from the beautiful way Krennic submitted to him, not just from the tight hole that consumed him voraciously with each thrust, but the _pleas_ that came from Krennic were not for his own pleasure, it was for Tarkin’s. He wanted it harder because he knew Tarkin loved it that way. And meanwhile with every thrust, Krennic’s ribbon-bound cock and sack kept him from coming himself.

Krennic, under normal circumstances, notoriously took more often than he gave and if this were any other time, he would be coming by now.

And yet, Krennic still was not begging for release. No whining or whimpering, only craving. It was beautiful, but it was also a selflessness that Tarkin felt had lasted long enough.

Tarkin slowed and reached down, finding the knot of the smaller ribbons that wrapped around Krennic’s loins and undid them. He raised himself and Krennic’s ass high, reaching around and finding another knot, deftly untying it.

Krennic panted hard. “N...no...it’s for you…” He said though he wriggled his hips eager to be rid of the ribbons that fell from him. His hands free he braced himself on the ground, bending farther over.

“You are right. This is for me…” Tarkin said, reaching around again to grab Krennic’s cock which was positively soaked in precum. “Move into my hand and come for me…that is my wish...” He ordered.

Krennic cried out gratefully as he moved. Tarkin’s cock pumped in and out of Krennic as the man rocked himself back and forth, working himself in Tarkin’s firm grip.

“Stars...Wil...feels so...I’m going to.. _.ah...ah_ …” he moved faster and faster and Tarkin felt himself soar over the edge just as warm come spilled over his fingers.

He filled Krennic then, feeling a lifetime’s worth of stress and a long forgotten need for attention pour into that orgasm. Tarkin rolled his head back and moaned out Orson’s name over and over until his body felt completely drained.

When neither one of them had any strength left, Tarkin slowly withdrew and they both eased down onto the rug. Tarkin undid Krennic’s ribbons, finding several impressive knots around his limbs and it took time to loosen them all. Krennic unfurled himself with a groan. “Kriff…” he groaned as he lay next to Tarkin who fell onto his back, thoroughly exhausted.

“How _did_ you do all this yourself, Orson?” Tarkin asked, prepared to ask again should Krennic be coy with his answer.

But Krennic had no strength left to be coy. He shrugged off some of the ribbons and lay his head on the grand moff’s shoulder, draping his arm over his chest. “I got a protocol droid to help me. They are surprisingly skilled at knot-tying apparently.”

Tarkin snorted. “Please tell me you intend on wiping his memory.”

“And get rid of a skillful bondage expert?”

Tarkin craned his neck to catch Krennic’s eye. Krennic looked up with sparkling deviousness. “Of course, I did. I set it up the moment the last knot was tied.”

Tarkin kissed his forehead. “You are so difficult.”

“I know,” Krennic said, snuggling in close. “But I did give you the best birthday present you’ve ever had.”

Tarkin sighed. “It was the only present I have ever received.”

“Still the best,” Krennic insisted.

“It was better than anything I could ask for.” Tarkin kissed the top of Krennic’s head. “Thank you, Orson.”

 


End file.
